Musings
by Tiriya
Summary: My first post in quite a while. Irvine thinks about becoming a SeeD and how it affects him and stuff.


Your first kill stays with you. It's sort of like a test, you know – I mean, usually you're around fifteen or sixteen years old before you're fit to pass the SeeD exam, and fifteen and sixteen year olds are not exactly known for their ability to cope with the emotional duress of taking a life. So if you do manage to cope, then they know that you'll be fine in future as well. I was actually seventeen, myself. A good student who showed more than satisfactory skill with a rifle and who kept a level head at all times. According to my last report, anyway. I guess I seemed like the right person for the job, and it wasn't general practice to turn down a job offer, especially not in my line of work, where you take whatever you can get.

But the poor bastard hadn't even done anything wrong, not really. Nothing he needed to die for, at least. I was briefed on the details, not so much because it was standard procedure to know exactly why you were bumping someone off, but also because the squad leader just couldn't resist telling me. He filled me in with a certain amount of glee. He seemed to think it was funny. And it was, kind of. Some crazy lady, an ex-girlfriend of the victim's, had seen him with another woman – and that woman happened to be her sister, or her best friend, or something. So needless to say, she wasn't too pleased. And what does a jilted ex-lover do when she sees her man with someone new? Why, she calls in the experts, of course, to gun the poor sucker down and make him pay for daring to get on with his life.

But the look in the man's eyes as he realised what I was about to do… it will never truly leave me. I think things were made worse by the fact that I knew him. Not well or anything; I'd just seen him around a few times, and we'd shared a rather spirited conversation about the gun we'd both taken a strong liking to down in the weapon store in Balamb – the same gun I'd later use to blow his brains out. Kind of ironic in a morbid sort of way, don't you think?

But I can tell you, I wasn't thinking about the irony of the situation as I slunk back into the shadows to rejoin my party. All I could think about was the fact that a man was dead because of me. It only really hit me when I looked back at his lifeless form, laying there on the ground, and felt my comrades slap me on the back as they congratulated me on a job well done. I didn't feel congratulation-worthy. I felt… hollow, and not a little ashamed. What the fuck had I done? I'd lowered myself to killing for money. It was like prostitution, almost, except the act itself was not nearly as pleasurable. Actually, it was worse than prostitution, now that I think about it. Prostitutes only sell their bodies, whereas mercenaries sell their souls, which in my opinion is a much more low-down, despicable thing to do. Oh, don't get me wrong, there ain't nothing wrong with selling your body, either. I know a few hookers; lovely girls, they are. But, you know, the concept is still the same.

But I digress. Sorry, I do tend to wander off the point a lot these days… my memory is not quite what it used to be. As I was saying – the first kill is the hardest, therefore it can only get easier. And it does. I still hesitate even now, still sometimes get a little flustered, but I can always get by without too much trouble. I've just learned not to let it get to me. I tell myself that these people are being killed for a reason, that they're better off dead, that they were a threat to society. You know, that sort of thing. Sometimes I feel like I'm playing God, but I'm not really. I'm just following orders. This is my job, after all. I have to make a living somehow, and the pay is good. It certainly makes up for all the shit I have to put up with from other people.

Suddenly there's a knock on the door, and I look instinctively toward the source of the noise, startled – somewhat thankfully – out of my reverie. "Who is it?"

"It's Squall," comes the gruff reply. "Get out here, Kinneas. We have new orders."

"All right." I sigh and place my cowboy hat back on my head, picking myself up off my bed. I retrieve my gun from where I left it sitting by the wall and head for the door. Time for reflection is over. I have work to do.


End file.
